


True Love Ways

by EconHomework



Series: Beatles Holiday Fics [4]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Buddy Holly music, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, John and Paul are head over heels, Julian is too pure, Kenwood, M/M, Slow Dancing, Valentine's Day, good parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29439255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EconHomework/pseuds/EconHomework
Summary: Valentine's Day hasn't been the easiest holiday for John and Paul to celebrate in the past, but they make it work at home for their little family. And, once the kids are asleep, Paul has a sweet surprise just for John.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Series: Beatles Holiday Fics [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076249
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22





	True Love Ways

**Author's Note:**

> Back for Valentine's Day! It's the same AU as the other fics in this series and has the same characteristic fluff

Valentine’s Day was always an interesting holiday for John Lennon. He didn’t want to be Scrooge-like about it, but his past history with the celebration was mixed. As a child, the day had consisted of messy primary school projects, pasting red construction paper hearts on cheap doilies and smothering them in glitter to bring home to Mimi. Not exactly the picture of true love, though Mimi had been good enough to keep them in her scrapbooks. 

At Quarry Bank, during the years when, for lack of a better phrase, biology started doing it’s job, the scene turned to asking birds out. John did, sometimes. Enjoyed it, sometimes. Girls were fine, but not as appealing as what his gut told him he was interested in. Except you couldn’t really ask out blokes with a bouquet of roses and a sappy card in front of the whole school, could you? 

When he and Paul officially “got together,” not much changed in the Valentine’s Day department. They couldn’t go out to Mirabelle and publicly toast their love with a bottle of champagne or do anything along those lines. What’s more, the press always had a field day with gossip columns around that time:  _ Lennon’s Secret Lover, Paul McCartney Engaged!,  _ etc., etc. It was enough to make anyone cynical about commercialism and society in general, and he and Paul had never done very much for the other on Valentine’s Day. Loving each other well in small ways and taking advantage of rare time alone was about all they could manage, what with their hectic schedules. 

He’d rather imagined his aggressive indifference would stick around, but things changed after Julian was born. He was a bundle of pure joy, a body and mind and soul that radiated love for everything and everyone he met. From the time he started talking, he’d wake his parents up from his crib in the morning by calling “Dada, Daddy, luv yooo!” It was all Paul and John could do to give their son as much love back. 

So, fittingly, Valentine’s Day became a time of celebration at Kenwood, complete with red and pink streamers around the house. Breakfast had come with small baskets of festive goodies, especially bags of Jelly Babies. Even dinner was themed: a pasta bake destined for a heart-shaped pan.

“Daddy, Daddy!” Julian squealed as he raced into the kitchen, waving a giant piece of crimson cardstock in his hand. 

“Hey, baby!” John turned from the stove, where the pasta shells were happily boiling. “Whatcha got there?” 

“I made you a card!” Julian proudly extended his arm, putting the paper out for John to see. 

“This is for me? Let’s have a look!” John grinned, crouching down to Julian’s level. He gently took the card from Julian’s small fingers and examined it carefully, not wanting to miss any details from the beautiful creativity of a four-year-old mind. 

The card had been cut into a skewed heart from a large sheet of red paper. Purple crayon ran around the edges in an attempt at a scallop pattern, and sporadically placed pink stickers adorned the interior. Black marker had been used to scrawl the words “to: DADDy LoVE, JuLiAN” across it.

“Jules, did you make this all by yourself?” 

“Uh huh.” Julian nodded shyly. “I used the safe scissors,” he added, slightly worried he would be chided for the lack of supervision. 

“Thank you for being careful, baby. I’m proud of you. And I love the card, it’s beautiful. You’re becoming quite the artist, Jules!” 

“You like it?” Julian’s smile broke across his whole face. 

“Of course I like it! You’re so sweet to make me a card.”

“I made Dada one, too!” Julian said eagerly. “But he hasn’t seen it yet. It’s still a secret!” 

“Oh, very good! I’m sure he’ll love it, baby. Do you wanna give it to him now?” 

“He’s busy up in your room so I’m gonna wait,” Julian explained, earnest as ever. 

“Yeah? What’s he doing up there?” John asked. His first thought was that Paul was obsessively cleaning, but their room was well organized at the moment, even by McCartney standards. 

“I dunno.” Julian shrugged. “I was making you the card in my room.”

“Ah, well how about you bring Dada’s card and put it on the table so he sees it when he’s done in our room and comes down for dinner?” 

“Okay!” Julian bounded out of the kitchen with the same force that he’d come in with. 

John moved back to the stove, scooping out a pasta shell and testing it for al dente perfection. Satisfied, he drained the pasta through a colander and began the somewhat messy process of stuffing them with the basil-cheese filling. It would have gone faster with another set of hands, but John didn’t mind the solitude. Besides, Paul more than deserved to have dinner made for him. 

As John placed the stuffed shells on a bed of marinara sauce in the heart baking dish, his thoughts wandered to what Paul was up to. Organizing was, as determined earlier, unlikely. Maybe he was writing? Paul had been on a song-writing kick for the past month, jotting down chords and words to match at an impressive rate. A few years ago, John might have been jealous. Now, although there was still some competitive edge, he was happy for Paul. Music brought each of them such great joy that neither was going to stand in the way on the grounds of petty envy. 

Or maybe he was simply catching a few moments away from the business of the past week. They’d only been back down from Scotland for about eight days, and getting the house here up and running again had been slightly chaotic. Furthermore, there was no denying that by autumn, Julian would need to begin attending some form of organized education; his grasp of language and numbers was impressive for a boy not yet four, and he would benefit greatly from having consistent social interactions with kids his age. However, figuring out the logistics of his future schooling were proving more than a little taxing. Not to mention there was another little one on the way.

Shells arranged in the pan, John placed it in the oven and moved on to steaming the green beans. He chopped almonds and prepared a simple lemon butter to go over the top, his signature vegetable dish. Julian actually liked it, and Heather didn’t refuse to eat them, which was an added benefit. 

Memories of past attempts at private Valentine’s Days swirled by. 1963 had been a whirlwind of events after the release of “Please Please Me” and ‘64 had been after a full day of Ed Sullivan rehearsals, touring Miami, and listening to a moderately cutting comedy act. Both times had consisted of the two of them quite literally falling into bed together, utterly exhausted and not up for stereotypical Valentine’s couples’ events. 

In 1965, they celebrated early, a week before. At the time, Brain had purposefully leaked to the press that John was in Switzerland and Paul in Tunisia when in fact the both of them had been in Corsica. John couldn’t remember the exact planning of the trip except that the public never found out. It was the most peaceful vacation John had taken up to that point. Probably the only truly romantic Valentine’s Day “event” they’d done, too, and it wasn’t even on the actual day. 

Julian returned to the kitchen, climbing up on a wooden chair and leaning toward the center of the table to put his card for Paul down. 

“That’s lovely, too, Jules,” John enthused, looking over Julian’s shoulder at the similar but unique creation. “I’m sure Dada will love it when he comes down for dinner.” 

“When is dinner?” Julian looked up at John with inquisitive eyes. 

“Gettin close now! Pasta needs to bake for a few more minutes, and then I need to put the butter on the green beans. Wanna read for a bit?” 

“Can we?” 

“Of course! Why don’t you go grab a book, little man!” 

Julian came back with a worn copy of “Katie Country Mouse” and let himself be hoisted up onto John’s lap, who was now sitting at the kitchen table. Julian settled in, leaning back against John’s chest, and John opened to the first page. The illustration’s of Katie’s barrel house drew Julian in more than the words did, but he followed along with focused enjoyment. 

“Katie Country Mouse lives in a pretty house in the country, where there are lots of birds and flowers,” John began. “But one day, Katie had a letter from her cousin, Matilda Town Mouse.” 

“Do I have any cousins?” Julian spoke up. 

“Yeah, Uncle Mike’s kids, remember? Brenna and Theran and Angela.” John reminded. They didn’t see Mike’s family very often, mostly because it was hard to do with publicity. According to the press, John and Julian had no reason to visit the extended McCartney Family. Doing otherwise would seem odd at the very least.

“Oh, I’d forgotten,” Julian said quietly. “Can we see them?” 

“I hope so. Maybe we can do something for your birthday. Would you like that?” 

Julian nodded eagerly. “Can Heather play with us?” 

“Absolutely.” John assured, before returning to the story. Katie ended up on the back of a bird, who dropped her down the chimney of her cousin’s house. Just as she got all covered in soot, the sound of footsteps came from the stairwell. 

“Dada?” Julian scooted off John’s lap and tentatively walked across the dining room floor. “Dada?” 

“Is that a Julian I hear?” Paul’s voice sounded from the steps. 

“Dada!” Julian hurried to the bottom of the stairs, ready to show Paul the card as soon as he fully appeared. 

“There’s my boy!” Paul exclaimed, emerging at the bottom landing. “Look Heather, it’s Julian!” Paul bounced Heather on his hip, and she clapped happily. 

“Dada, I made you a card!” Julian grinned, grabbing at Paul’s other arm, pulling him to the table.

“You did? Did Daddy help you?” 

“I did it all on my own!” Julian pointed to the read heart resting on the stack of table cloths. 

“You made this?” Paul fake gasped. “Are you sure you didn’t have help?”

“Uh huh! Made it myself!” 

“Wow, look at you! Turning into as good an artist as Daddy!” 

“Really?” Julian said with a look of awe. Even though John had said something similar before, he was still excited to hear it. 

“Definitely! You’re very talented. Thank you, baby. I love it.” Paul bent down to give Julian a kiss on his forehead. “What do you say we put it on the window sill, hmm?”

Julian agreed with vigour, grabbing the card he’d made for John, which had been placed on the counter, out of range of the previously bubbling pasta water. 

Paul set Heather in her high chair, making sure the tray was locked on, before ruffling Julian’s hair and moving into the kitchen. John was just extracting the baked pasta shells from the oven. 

“Your timing is impeccable, Macca. Only thing left is to put the lemon butter and almonds on the beans.” 

“Well, a good guest knows when to arrive,” Paul chuckled. He leaned forward and pecked John’s cheek. “Thank you for cooking, Johnny. You’re lovely.” 

“Happy to do it, darling. Sounds like you were pretty busy up there, anyway!”

“Is that so?” Paul raised an eyebrow. 

“According to our little artist, anyway. Keeping busy?” 

“Oh you know, just getting a few things taken care of. Now, can I help with anything?” Paul moved the conversation forward, and John chose to follow along. 

“Maybe arrange the table? Just forks and glasses, I think.” 

“Right you are, Johnny.” Paul hip bumped him and set about gathering the plates and necessary accessories. 

A few minutes later, the table was set with foodladen-dishes and occupied by the small family. Paul sat next to the high chair, feeding Heather her pasta and green beans while simultaneously ensuring she didn’t begin throwing them at John, who was seated opposite. She’d developed the habit at High Park, when Paul made the mistake of preparing small potatoes: the perfect projectile. Tonight though, aside from one bean that hit the milk pitcher with a rather unimpressive “thwack,” all unfolded in a manageable fashion. 

Julian always delighted in conversation with his parents, enjoying both asking questions and answering them. Favorite topics of late were painting, pianos, and penguins. The theme was not accidental: his current educational-related book was the letter “P.” Tonight, however, he had a different idea on his mind. 

“Dada, when did you start loving Daddy?” 

“Oh, huh,” was all Paul could say at first. He’d expected that question at some point, but he’d figured it would have been a few years from now. “What made you think of that, Jules?” 

“You and Daddy love each other so much that you must have been doing it for a long time.” 

“Doing what, exactly?” John cut in. 

“Saying that you love each other,” Julian answered, somewhat confused at his dad’s question. For their part, both John and Paul breathed an internal sigh of relief. They weren’t ready for the actual “doing it” conversation just yet. 

“Well baby,” Paul started, trying to figure out how to make his and John’s rather complicated relationship understandable to Julian. It hadn’t been filled with drama, but there were so many layers, public and private, that it made for a confusing story. “Daddy and I knew we really liked each other almost 10 years ago now, but we’d fancied each other for a bit before then.” 

“Is that when you started loving him?” 

“I think so, but I didn’t tell him I loved him until a little while later.” 

“Why’d you wait?” Again, Julian seemed perplexed. 

“I was nervous, baby. I liked Daddy so much and I didn’t want to tell him unless I was sure he loved me, too.” 

Julian turned to John. “When did you love Dada the first time?” 

John cleared his throat. As innocent as Julian was, his word choice was a bit suggestive. Still, he continued the conversation and answered Julian’s question. “I knew I loved him the moment I met him.” 

“John!” Paul sputtered. What was he supposed to say in response to that? Julian was going to think he didn’t love John nearly as much. 

Luckily, Julian had become distracted by Heather, who was now clapping out some random tune. Paul’s flustered appearance and nerves were saved from further struggles. 

The evening moved on comfortably. Paul served small berry tarts and John read more of “Katie Country Mouse” to Julian. Heather watched the flickering of the flames in the fireplace before falling asleep in Paul’s arms. There was a nip in the air outside, and the warmth of the fire made for a welcome addition of warmth. The radio crooned forgotten ‘40s jazz, transporting Paul back to a time before Julian, before Kenwood, even, when he’d shared a flat with George and John in the Georgian Quarter of Liverpool. He remembered rainy autumn nights spent in the sitting area, huddled under blankets and talking of everything that seemed important at the time, the radio humming in the background. 

Paul found himself missing those days, in a way. He was happier now than he ever had been, what with his husband and children and the life they were building, but there was something about that previous time in his life that he could never get back. Simplicity, for one. Not as much to think about or worry over. Time was misleading, of course, and they’d had their own struggles during the early years, but everything had been on a smaller scale. They weren’t in the public eye as heavily, failure would have been a shorter fall. The only real concern had been George. Lord, he’d forgotten about that whole thing with George. Now there was something from then that he didn’t want to relive. That had been one hell of a mess. 

“Macca?” 

“Hmm?” Paul swiveled his head to find John, trapped under a now sleeping Julian. 

“I think it’s bedtime, for the underage crowd at least.” 

“I think you’re right, love,” Paul yawned. “Might want to include me in that category, too.” 

“On Valentine’s Day? Tsk tsk, darling,” John teased. 

“I’ll do my best to rally, just for you.” Paul winked and leaned across the sofa to meet John for a longer-than-chaste kiss. If the night to come was anything like that, he certainly wanted to stay awake. 

They carried their sleeping children up the stairs, laying Heather down in her crib and tucking Julian into his bed. Whispers of “Happy Valentine’s Day” and “Sweet Dreams” were sealed on their foreheads with a kiss. John hung back a moment after Paul, taking care to place Julian’s panda under the blanket with him. He’d had it since hospital, a gift from George. Heather’s animal of choice, which John had also been sure to put beside her, was a horse from Ringo. The couple knew how to pick out presents, apparently. 

John carefully closed the door to Julian’s room and padded down the hall to the master bedroom. He was getting rather tired himself, but romantic cuddles would do just fine, he supposed. Upon opening the door, however, thoughts of going to bed flew from his mind.

Initially confused, his eyes recognized a string of twinkling lights hung from the curtain bar and secured to the bookcase. The low table between the two armchairs on the far side of the room had a large vase of chrysanthemums on it, and their record player sat on the wood floor in front of it. No music was playing yet, but a vinyl was on the platter. Paul, however, was nowhere to be seen. 

“Paul?” John called quietly. “You in here?” 

“Hello, love,” Paul said, almost nervously, as he stepped out of the doorway to the bathroom. 

“Macca my dear, what is all this? Are we filming a Hepburn picture?” John joked, trying to lighten the worry he heard in Paul’s voice. 

“Just us, I’m afraid.” Paul looked down at his feet. He stayed still for a moment, but then gathered himself and raised his eyes to meet John’s fully. “I know we don’t do much for Valentine’s Day, except for Jules and Heather, but I wanted to try something this year. If that’s okay, of course.” 

“I’d be happy to try anything with you,” John assured, stepping forward to take Paul’s hands in his own. “What did you have in mind?” 

“Well, umm, remember back when we were still in Liverpool, and had just started going together, you used to walk me home when it was late — so no one would see — and you would come in and we’d turn on the radio and, umm, and we danced in the parlor?” 

“Of course I do. I loved those nights.” 

“And you remember how we danced at the first flat sometimes, after we’d helped get George to bed?” 

“I do indeed,” John laughed. “Rather like now, putting the child to bed and then having alone time.” 

Paul chuckled at that, too, despite his nerves. “Yeah, well, umm, I was just thinking maybe we could do that again, tonight?” 

“What, put George to bed?” John grinned.

“No, you git!” Paul let out a cheerful and shaky breath. “I was wondering if you’d like to dance with me.” 

“James Paul McCartney, I would like nothing more,” John murmured, placing a kiss on Paul’s forehead. Goodness, he loved this man. He could feel his eyes welling up. 

A flush spread on Paul’s cheeks, evident even in the dimness. He knelt down to start the record, then placed a hand on John’s shoulder and laced their fingers together. “May I have this dance?” 

“You may.” John smiled, blinking a few joyful tears away. He put his free hand on Paul’s hip, then, as the music began to flow from the small speakers, he led Paul into a slow dance across the rug. 

“Do you know the song?” Paul asked softly. They swayed from side to side, feet following the steps they both knew. The music filled the room, and the lights glowed against the walls, casting small shadows in their wake. 

“‘True Love Ways.’ Good old Buddy Holly,” John replied, leading Paul past the bouquet of chrysanthemums. They must have been from George’s greenhouse. There was no way Paul could have gotten away with buying those in town. “I remember the first time we danced to this. I’d walked you home, and we were in your living room, just holding each other on your couch. Then you asked me what I’d meant when I’d said I didn’t really want to leave Liverpool so much anymore.” 

“And then you told me you loved me,” Paul whispered. His voice was cracking slightly. 

“And you said it back. Then this song came on and you asked me if I wanted to dance, and we danced on the rug just like always, but something about it was so much better.” John finished the memory with glistening eyes. “I was so happy that night. Couldn’t stop smiling. Not for days. Still can’t.” 

“I was really happy, too,” Paul began to cry. “I still am. I love you so much, Johnny. For all of you.” 

“Soft lad, shhh,” John calmed him. “No tears now. I’m right here, I’ve got you.” 

“I just, there are so many times I didn’t think it would work, that someone would find out, that something would happen.” Paul wiped his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m really here, with you, with our family.”

“Always told you I’d keep you safe, didn’t I?” John smiled. 

“Yeah,” Paul said, a bit abashed. It was clear where Julian got that behavior trait from. “And you always did.” 

“‘Course I did. And I always will. That’s a Valentine’s Day promise.” 

“I love you so much.”

“And I love you. Since the day we met.” 

“... I’m getting you back for that,” Paul glared, though not unkindly.

“I’m looking forward to it,” John returned. “Now how about a Valentine’s Day kiss?”

“On its way.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! Happy Valentine's Day to everyone out there, whether you're into it or not. And leave some kudos or comments if you so desire. I'd love to know what you thought!
> 
> A few notes: 
> 
> "Katie Country Mouse" is actually a picture book and children's comic series from England that was published from the 1950s to '70s. Very sweet and definitely still worth reading to children -- or yourself! The little world is too lovely to pass up. 
> 
> George apparently was a very good gift giver! Kind of makes sense, I guess, with him being so thoughtful about so much that he did. 
> 
> If any of you are familiar with some of the more famous Beatles photographs out there, you probably know the ones of all of them in the pool in Miami -- it was featured on the cover of Life Magazine. That and other pool pictures were taken on February 14, 1964, at the pool of a Capitol Records executive that Brian Epstein somehow knew. 
> 
> And lastly, if you're intrigued about what the heck Paul meant when he was thinking about the whole mess with George, something he didn't want to relive, then keep your eyes peeled for the middle of March: I'm writing a pre-series to these ficlets! It takes place in the same AU, but is set back in the Beatles era. Has fluff, angst, and some extra love for George. Brian, everyone's favorite tired band mother, donates a generous share of his own uniquely Brian energy (I can't describe it, but you all know what I mean).


End file.
